


Feet That Make No Sound

by thesolemneyed



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Ghosts, Happy, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29490921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesolemneyed/pseuds/thesolemneyed
Summary: Vernon knew his flat was haunted.He wasn’t stupid, he’d stayed up long enough diving into rabbit-holes on the internet to read the signs: the random cold spots, things moving without him touching them, hearing noises that couldn’t be explained (in case he had rats, and he really hoped he didn’t have rats).***And they were roommates...
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon & Lee Seokmin | DK
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	Feet That Make No Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this poem](https://poets.org/poem/haunted-houses)
> 
> Happy Birthday to the 2.18 bros !!! 
> 
> If you can tell I wrote this in an hour flat past my bedtime, please don't inform me

Objectively speaking, there were an awful lot of things that sucked about being dead.

Seokmin had to watch the world around him shift from the familiar shapes and sounds which he recognised from when he was alive to something strange and infinitely confusing to him.

He had to see people around him change and mature and grow in ways he would never know; children morphed into adults into frail elderly creatures who grunted when they moved and complained no matter what they did. Everyone seemed so free in their ephemerality; their liminal lives letting them live in a way which frankly baffled Seokmin sometimes.

Buildings and cities and communities sprang up and sank down around him, but he remained.

***

Vernon knew his flat was haunted.

He wasn’t stupid, he’d stayed up long enough diving into rabbit-holes on the internet to read the signs: the random cold spots, things moving without him touching them, hearing noises that couldn’t be explained (in case he had rats, and he _really_ hoped he didn’t have rats).

Oddly, though, the prospect of an undead flatmate didn’t scare him in the slightest and ignored Seungkwan’s protestations and the pamphlets for exorcism he found crushed into his letterbox.

He found it comforting to have someone else around, someone to share the space with. He felt less guilty leaving the flat empty during his long shifts if someone else was gettingsome use out of it.

***

Of all the people Seokmin had shared his space with, this guy was most certainly the oddest.

Seokmin watched, perplexed, as he stumbled through the door in the wee small hours of the morning, plonking his disgustingly heavy backpack down in the hallway and collapsing, fully dressed on the bed, without even turning the lights off.

Seokmin laughed to himself as he sang, out of key and far too loud, in the shower. The songs were too high for his register, but carried with such enthusiasm that it almost didn't matter. Although their landlady apparently disagreed, if the angry post-it notes on the front door were anything to go by.

Seokmin fretted as he left the oven on. And the TV. And the radio. And as he left the plug in the running sink. Or as he forgot to lock the door for the third time that month. Luckily, some things - only _very_ small - could be fixed.

***

The ghost was definitely looking out for him.

Vernon was halfway down the stairs when he realised he had forgotten to lock the door. He’d been in enough trouble with their forever frowning landlady the last time and so he dashed back up to his floor, swearing under his breath.

By the time he reached his flat he was out of breath, faintly sweaty, and scrambling for his key in his pocket. But, when he slotted it in the lock, it wouldn’t shift. Instead, he was only able to unlock his door, rather than lock it.

He shrugged, reminding himself to start making himself breakfast and stop being in such a rush in the mornings.

The next instance happened when baking, an activity Vernon less enjoyed and more tolerated to be able to rub the _handmadeness_ of his goodies in Seungkwan’s face as they enjoyed them.

He had forgotten, as usual, to soften the butter before commencing on this particular journey, but his chocolate was already melting on the stove. In a moment of brilliance, he threw the block into the microwave and turned back to stirring.

The smell should have alerted him to his mistake, but he shrugged it off as an unspecified baking side effect. The microwave beeped then and he span around, confused as to how time had passed that quickly, only to see a neon ’ _30 secs_ ’ flashing back at him.

Perplexed, he swung the door open, seeing the butter still in its metal wrapping, and cursed to himself wildly. Damn, that had been close.

The third time’s the charm and, although this time was less _lifesaving_ , it was no less conclusive in Vernon’s mind.

He’d spent the night drinking - once again with Seungkwan, rookie error - and stumbled in much worse for wear than he had any ought to be on a Tuesday. His bed had called to him too powerfully for him to mess around with anything like washing or rehydrating or any of that nonsense.

As a result, he’d jolted awake to his alarm at seven on the dot with a tongue like a church carpet and a head like the inside of a racer engine. He flinched at the sunlight that glinted into his eyes and groaned as he lifted his sorrowful head.

He could have cried when he saw the tall glass of water on his bedside. And, to top it off, the shiny packet of paracetamol made him utter small prayers under his breath. Someone was definitely looking out for him

***

The guy did his best to be welcoming.

He started leaving the TV on when he was out - seemingly on purpose this time. Sometimes the radio instead. Or a book on the side table, open to a particular page.

He didn’t seem to grasp that, if Seokmin could operate the microwave or get him a full drink of water, he could probably choose his own book or selection of daytime TV, but it was the thought that counted.

Seokmin got into the habit of picking up the suggestion left out for him, spending some time perusing what it had to offer, and leaving the book on a page he liked more. He enjoyed watching the man’s private smile spread over his face as he noticed the difference, as he quietly took in what Seokmin had selected for him.

Sometimes the man would even talk to him, small stories about his day or work or his friends. Seokmin liked to listen to his voice even as the tales opened small wounds in his chest. He liked to hear about the world he was no longer a part of.

Mostly, the man was quiet. He worked on his laptop or lounged around, languid like a house cat. The first time Seokmin settled next to him, the hairs on his arm prickled alert, but he didn’t shift. The second time, his mouth twitched in a smile. From then on, he left a gap on the sofa, a silent invitation.

***

The ghost was lonely.

Vernon wasn’t sure how he knew that, whether it was just the faint feeling of melancholy he sometimes caught floating through him or the way he hung around like a lost kitten. His loneliness wasn’t as cloying as Vernon had been led to believe it might be by those shifty websites. It felt more like an undertone, a countermelody to the comfort he usually offered.

Vernon knew how it felt to be lonely. His best - and only - friend had lectured him enough times on the importance of _putting himself out there_ and how _people don’t know you want to be friends with them unless you make the first move_. Ever stubborn, Vernon had ploughed on with his solitude, content in the familiarity of his own company.

But, just because he was comfortable didn’t mean that his empty address book didn’t sometimes trouble him, didn’t mean that he avoided making Christmas lists to avoid setting his isolation in numerical form in front of himself. It was the sort of dilemma that only reared its head in the hours when sleep escaped him.

***

He was up to something.

Seokmin didn’t know what, but the sly grin the man wore around the house was telling of _something_. Maybe he had a new lover. Maybe he had plans to move on, to be free of Seokmin’s constant presence.

The man refused to tell him anything, even when Seokmin started twinging his covers as he slept and hiding his glasses and keys in the morning. He just kept that innocent, wide-eyed mask of bemusement on his face as he groped under the bookshelf for the fourth time that week.

***

The bag was heavy.

All the bags were heavy.

If Vernon had been informed that so much lifting would be involved, he definitely would have roped Seungkwan into helping him.

But, for some strange reason, this felt oddly private; just between him and the unknown entity he shared his living space with.

He panted outside the door, murmuring softly to the lightest of the carriers he was holding.

***

“Hey, buddy, meet your new friend.”

_Woof._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this silly little story :3
> 
> come chat with me on [twt](https://twitter.com/thesolemneyed) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/thesolemneyed)


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